Deteriorate
by Ink Reservoir
Summary: Kabuto brings Orochimaru his medication every day. Sometimes they talk.


Headache split through his skull from the outermost protruding part of his forehead backwards in, leaking in his brain through the wrinkles and crevices and it's like he could feel every single one, though he knew there weren't any pressure nerves up there. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against them for temporary relief; wishing that shedding bodies wasn't such a destructive process so perhaps he could crack the skull of one open afterward, and find out if the body's brain had changed while he was in there. Not many ninja bothered with the monism versus dualism debate, but it'd be interesting to pursue anyway.

There was knocking on the door, and he said, "Come in, Kabuto," because no one else in this den would dare to knock on his door and initiate conversation instead of waiting for him to come to them. He didn't know which of them did it out of fear and which because they actually had nothing to say to him, but it didn't really matter now; his head was pounding.

Kabuto opened the door, balancing a tray with some bread, a glass of water and a bottle of pills on it on his hand. "You need to take two—"

"I take them every day; I know how many to take," Orochimaru cut off his assistant, and Kabuto nodded as Orochimaru took the tray from him, pressing his glasses closer to his nose as soon as it was out of his hands.

Orochimaru almost wanted to drink the water without the pills; and he knew that Kabuto would go to fetch him more water without Orochimaru even asking if he did, but decided to save him the trouble just this once and shook two capsules from the bottle into his hand. The water was cool against his throat, harder to swallow now that his tongue was longer but the pain in his mind was already dulling.

He replaced the glass on the metal tray with a quiet clang and a sigh. Kabuto wasn't looking at him but at Orochimaru's hands.

"You should eat the—"

"No, thank you," Orochimaru said.

"But—your medicine—"

"It isn't going to kill me," Orochimaru gave Kabuto a grin but Kabuto still wasn't looking. Orochimaru frowned, looking down at his tray and pinching off a corner of the small cube of bread, then dropped the crumb back into the tray.

"How's Kimimaro?" he broke the silence.

Kabuto knit his eyebrows together. "Why?"

"I'm curious, Kabuto," Orochimaru said. "You aren't used to my questions by now?"

Kabuto shrugged. "His condition is worse than it was before," he replied in a voice that was almost airy. "At this rate, even with the transfusion of Juugo's cells and my care, he'll be dead within the next two years, if he's lucky enough to last that long."

"You're amused by this," Orochimaru said, and Kabuto's eyes drifted to Orochimaru's hands again. He shook his head, saying nothing.

"You don't have to lie to me, Kabuto," Orochimaru said. "I already know that you are unkind."

Kabuto looked up sharply and Orochimaru's chapped lips threatened to split as they stretched into a smile.

"It's not that I'm amused," Kabuto said. "I just think it's interesting the way these things happen—that your so-called 'dream container' which we expected to be so great was destined to one day deteriorate so rapidly as an effect of itself. Illness—it's fascinating."

"It's fascinating, yes," Orochimaru said, handing the tray back to Kabuto. "But you have one thing wrong."

"Oh?" Kabuto asked, taking a step backward toward the door. "What's that?"

"Kimimaro's body was not fated to fall ill," Orochimaru said. "His disease isn't a statement of irony by the universe. Something caused it, and you and I are simply insufficient to cure it. But there is always a cure."

Kabuto stood by the door now, tray on one hand and the other hand on the doorknob.

"The philosophy isn't very important. The irony remains."

Orochimaru shook his head. "Immortality isn't achievable if you believe that death is predetermined," he said. "The philosophy is important— the belief that anything is achievable is absolutely necessary in the quest to achieve everything."

Kabuto nodded. "I see your point."

"I knew you would," Orochimaru said, allowing himself to fall back against the pillows propped up next to the headboard. He doesn't know why _he_ got sick, but as Kabuto closes the door behind him to take the tray back to the kitchen, Orochimaru wishes he'd eaten the cube of bread.

 **Notes:** Written at 3 a.m. but I quite liked this exchange. Orochimaru's actually rather fun to write, I should do it more often. It's nice getting back into writing for Naruto again. Reviews are always appreciated!


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